


tell me when you're gonna let me in

by foxgloved



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, F/F, Gen, Pre-Canon, Pre-Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-07 22:16:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6827284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxgloved/pseuds/foxgloved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Last is only slightly less dangerous than options #1 and #2 combined. No one knows anything about Rosa Diaz, and Rosa seems to like keeping it that way. Rosa Diaz is a matryoshka doll set, each doll opening to reveal a smaller version of each mask over her personality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tell me when you're gonna let me in

**Author's Note:**

> idk what this is i was thinking abt gina knowing that rosa likes old movies ????? and this happens idk i guess i should be happy im writing something at all, idk if itd actually fit into pre-canon nywhere since thats kinda a Vague Area. title from keane's 'somewhere only we know', which u all know, but..

After a blind date gone terrible and maybe a little more wine than she can handle, Gina's fingers are moving before she can think better of it. Her first option is to text Jake, which would be worse for her head. Next is the precinct group chat, which would end up in disaster and Amy (synonyms to Gina). Last—

Last is only slightly less dangerous than options #1 and #2 combined. No one knows anything about Rosa Diaz, and Rosa seems to like keeping it that way. Rosa Diaz is a matryoshka doll set, each doll opening to reveal a smaller version of each mask over her personality. (And creepy with those big painted eyes, besides.) Still—Gina can handle her alcohol but sometimes, when she's had a bit much, she makes shitty decisions. (Actually, she does that without sometimes, too.)

And so, she finds herself typing and sending, _movie night @ my place??????_ to one Diaz, Rosa. (She's tried to assign nicknames to Rosa's number several times, but somehow, by the end of the day, it's always back to Diaz, Rosa.)

She doesn't expect anything back, because in thirty minutes her only message from Rosa is from several months ago, but as she's dangling herself from the arm of her couch, the distinct sound of a fist hitting her door sounds throughout the apartment. Gina drags herself to her feet, in a robe that trails after her like smoke and a T-shirt and shorts she'd nabbed off an ex-boyfriend, and lo and behold, Rosa Diaz. There's something that looks suspiciously like blood on her jacket, but she's there and Gina is too tipsy for this but she manages to slur out a greeting.

Rosa's eyebrow furrows, her lip curving into the sneer Gina recognizes. “Smells like a distillery blew up,” she says. She scans the apartment—the clothes and other objects tossed all around the place—and tilts her head. “Do you have any more wine?”

Which is how they end up sprawled across opposite ends of Gina's couch, the television playing the black-and-white movies Rosa had gone straight for at the end of her first drink. She's nursing her third now, eyes soft as she looks at the screen, where Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn look at each other, lost in whatever dizzy world they're trapped in.

“I love this movie,” Rosa admits.

Gina crooks her fingers together and tries to straighten up, only succeeding in tangling their legs together, which—doesn't feel so bad, even if Rosa's skin is like ice. (Cold hands, cold heart, but Gina is starting to suspect that isn't the entire case.) “It's so cheesy, though.”

Rosa's cheeks look a little darker than they had been before, and she carefully avoids Gina's eyes as she tips her glass back. “I know,” she says.

And maybe as the movie ends and Rosa's draped across Gina's couch, and she suggests another in the spread across Gina's carpet, Gina looks a little too closely at her. Maybe she feels something that scares her a little. Maybe Rosa's loose smile—sharp and toothy and a bit terrifying—makes something settle into her chest and clutch her sippy cup (because she is a sophisticated adult and she can drink wine out of sippy cups goddammit) tighter.

“Okay,” she says in response to Rosa's movie suggestion, which she might've missed in her epiphany. Might've. “You made a six-two man who had more muscles than Amy has rules cry yesterday... and you like old movies.” She leans back, clinging to her blanket and her cup as Rosa puts the movie—she's still not sure what it is—in. “Okay,” she repeats.

Rosa's smile quirks a little. “It's not that complicated,” she says in her usual deadpan, and presses play.

Gina, for once in her life, shuts up.

**Author's Note:**

> [:BBB](http://heterophobicalec.tumblr.com/)


End file.
